Invaders: french, Harry and Troublesome Cucumbers
by pun33t.n
Summary: 'And Mum, Hermione and I are the resistance, the nobles taking a stand against flouncing, croissants, discussions about weddings, bouillabaisse and frilly French knickers.' - Ginny takes on the various invasions of the French, noble boys and cucumbers.
1. Code Croissant! Phlegm Alert!

**Hi guys! I've wanted to write something like this for a while, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, and I really hope you thoroughly enjoy reading it! It's most definitely not really Canon, as I doubt Ginny would brandish a cucumber at Fleur (Next chapter) in canon, but ah well. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!**

**Review please!**

Invaders. Of the French kind.

"Geeny!"

Oh, bollocks.

I automatically went into red-alert mode, my body tensing up as I stood in the kitchen. I was frozen, my eyes darting around, fruitlessly searching for an escape from the gawd-awful voice that promised my doom. Doom involving a vomit-worthy perfect face, a voice to match, bouillabaisse and possibly French lingerie. The frilly kind.

My heart started thumping EVEN harder at the alarming thought of the frilly kind of French lingerie. A distant part of my brain, that wasn't screaming "Code Croissant! Phlegm alert!, was wondering if this was what Harry looked like when any danger was around. . .

Momentarily distracted, I mentally screamed back at the very mental (oh, haha. Snort) part of my conscience "What does that have to do with anything? How does Harry link to Phlegm cornering me in the kitchen and suffocating me with her overpowering French Fleur-iness?

"Oh, you know everything links to Harry" the part of my brain said back to me. I could just feel it waggling its eyebrows and smirking at me. Git.

I ground my teeth in frustration and pulled back to my Current Predicament. I ducked down and swiftly rolled under the dining table. Knowing Phlegm, she probably wouldn't duck to look under the table, in case her silvery locks touched the floor and got dirty.

I briefly considered using my discrete position to my advantage to get out my wand and perform a little bat-bogey on Fleur dear. Like an initiation into the family, I reasoned.

"No,' The less Fred and Georgish part of my mind said. "You won't get away with that."

True. My family would automatically think of me as soon as they saw the huge flapping things around a Fleur that would be imitating a banshee. I snickered at the image, but sacrificed it at the altar of the more rational part of my brain. As much as Mum hated Fleur, she would bring the number of imitations of a banshee in a day to a grand total of two, if she saw Phlegm floundering around. Even worse, Bill and Dad would do that disappointed look thing that liquefied my insides.

As for the ministry, I didn't think they could detect underage magic if I did any, because of the Burrow positively functioning on magic. But, even if the Ministry wasn't being bitter prats about us being right about tommy boy being back all along, I doubt I could get away with an unnecessary (ahem) hex.

"No,' said that voice in the back of my head 'you're not Harry, after all." Oh, I could just sense that smugness.

I heard Fleur trilling my name as she searched for me, probably wanting to discuss the colour of, oh, I don't know, the tiles on the blasted dancing floor for the wedding. She really thinks I care? That girl needs thinking lessons, not English lessons if you ask me. Oh, har-de-har. I'm so amusing. Though, the way she says my name, I don't think Bill taught her pronunciation correctly during those lessons. Then again, considering they're getting married, I do think they must have been a little preoccupied doing other things than teaching and learning English.

"Ginny?"

Deciding that if the person had pronounced my name correctly, they were safe to reveal myself to, I craned my neck and looked up from under the table. Hermione stood there, clutching a book (figures) and wearing a faintly amused expression.

"Shhh!" I said frantically, my gaze darting around and towards the stairs, and my ears strained for the sound of Phlegm's footsteps. Apparently, I was still in Harry-mode. Oh, Merlin. Look what little Miss Madeline (Hermione called her that, I don't know what or who that is, but it was in a mocking tone; therefore, I'll call her that.) was doing to me. Making me act like slightly awkward, hot-tempered boys whose moods swung faster that beater's bats. Admittedly very good-looking, cutely awkward boys, though I might add.

Wait, what?

I hadn't had thoughts like that for a while. I mean, yes, I always acknowledged how he looked better and better every time I saw him, but that was unconscious! Checking him out was like a habit from my fan-girl crush days, an action that I did so frequently back then that it was now ingrained in my system to do so every time I saw him. I was over him! Of that, I was positive.

"Sure."

Three guesses who that was? Bloody smug voice.

"Ginny? Uh, Ginny?"

I looked up, startled. I must have looked gobsmacked at my internal battle and musings about Harry freakin' Potter, because Hermione was looking at me very strangely right now. Snapping out of my daze, I grabbed Hermione's arm and yanked her down. She dropped her book with a loud thump, and gave a surprised shriek. I made a noise that was a cross between a groan and a cry of anguish.

"Now you've done it!" I hissed as I heard light footsteps come down the stairs. Hermione finally seemed to realise what I had been hiding from (honestly, for someone so bloody smart, she could be really thick sometimes.) and gave me a desperate but silently apologetic look. We both peered out from behind the leg of a chair to see Fleur, aka Phlegm, step off the stairs in all her haughty French glory.

Ever since Bill had brought her home, things had gotten rather barmy. Barmier than usual, you ask? Yes. Barmier than usual indeed.

After the announcement of their engagement, Mum spluttering and nearly passing out, and much repetition of "What!", everyone in the Burrow seemed to have a different opinion on the matter. Ron was dumbstruck; Dad was just 'supportive of his eldest son' and Fred and George thought it was hilarious (as usual). Mum and I weren't so accepting though. And when Hermione arrived yesterday, she had joined our ranks too.

A while ago, when Hermione was with me instead of Ron and Harry (for once), she had told me how her mother wanted to go on vacation to France again to see some tapestry from a very famous muggle invasion in medieval times.

When I had been stupid enough to ask her about it, she had explained that some guy called William, who was a Duke, from France had invaded England and took to the throne to become king.

Sound familiar?

So, Billy the Conqueror probably evilly cackled and planned to lord all over the good English peoples.

The Brits, however, had other ideas. Whereas the south of England put as much of a fight as a flobberworm,

Again, sound familiar?

The rest resisted. Anyway, so apparently this tapestry is about the Battle, and shows that English king get hit in the eye by an arrow. Idiot.

Yes, I know. I'm so bloody impressed with myself for remembering this. It's incredible. Pat on the back, Ginevra.

But after the detailed lecture Hermione had given me, who would forget? If there is one profession she shouldn't attempt, it's being an Unspeakable. I mean, if you haven't figured it out already (then you must be thicker than the fur on the Durmstrang uniform) but, well, being an Unspeakable involves not talking much. Not ideal for Herm-own-ninny, if you ask me. Honestly, she's a walking, bushy-haired, non-flying, not to mention human, Pigwidgeon. But I do love her. In a very appropriate manner. I think my relationship with Dean Thomas proves that.

But, with being One-of-those-who-shan't-speak, it's a lot about being tight-lipped. All secrets, y'know. And Hermione does certainly have a lot of practice with THAT when it comes to the mysteries surrounding her best friend, Boy-Who-Saves-All, our own dear Harrykins, and what next world saving thing they're up to. So . . . maybe better an Unspeakable than anything to do with seers and Divination. She's more likely to spontaneously combust from some old coot asking for their future to be read in bird shit than not talking.

Yeah, I can practically feel your nod of agreement.

I think I'm getting a little off track here. Or very off track.

So, in my head, Phlegm has rode in on her high horse like Billy the Conqueror and invaded. Ron, dad and the twins are south England, which are about as useless as Neville's old Rememberal. And Mum, Hermione and I are the resistance, the nobles taking a stand against flouncing, croissants, discussions about weddings, bouillabaisse and frilly French knickers.

So, here Hermy and I were, under the dining table, while Phlegm the Invader flounced in, still looking for me. Suddenly, Ron trudged into the kitchen. I think Ron spends half his holidays in the kitchen. He seemed to freeze at the sight of Fleur. He looked around, as if searching for someone. The looked back at her with a disbelieving expression on his freckly face, as if pleasantly surprised to find himself in the presence of Fleur all alone. Git.

"Oh, Ron. 'Ave you seen your seester, Geeny?"

Yeah, because my mother produced so many females that you need to specify which 'seester' you're referring to, I thought as I rolled my eyes.

"Uh, N-No. I, uh, haven't. Sorry, Fleur." My bumbling brother blithered.

"Honestly." Hermione huffed next to me.

I hid my snicker behind my hand. I swear, I will get Mum drunk, throw THE biggest party, set off ALL of Fred and George's fireworks, snog Harry and round it off by vigorously dancing the Futterwacken when Ronald and Hermione _finally _snog each other senseless and just admit that they werein hopeless love with the other.

I think I might try getting them together just so I can snog Harry. I mean, Mum and Dad always taught me to keep my promises.

Oh, god. I cannot believe this. I could hear that voice in my head sniggering at my expense again.

"Ah. I 'ave been looking for 'er everywhere!' Fleur said in a tiredly manner. I grinned at the fact that I had caused her any discomfort whatsoever.

"She'll ah, turn up. Sit down?" Ron asked.

"Oh, you are so charmante, Ronald!" Fleur trilled as she pulled out the chair next to Ron and sat down, her slim legs just inches away from me now. Oh, the temptation to do something to her was unbelievable! Hermione, who had been glowering at both pairs of legs, now gave me a warning look. She must have seen the temptation to amputate Fleur dear's perfect legs on my face. Damn.

Suddenly, I realised that if either of them moved enough, they would likely kick me in the face. Looking behind me, I saw a cupboard ajar, revealing some vegetables and fruits. I reached into the basket and grabbed one or two things, ready to utilise them against the reincarnation of billy the Conqueror if necessary. Or not necessary. I wasn't really bothered, either way.

Hermione was looking at me questioningly, eyes wide with bewilderment as to what on Merlin's magical earth I was doing, but I just smiled at her reassuringly. Needless to say, she didn't look the smidgest bit mollified. I resent that.

As I shot her a grumpy look at her lack of trust in me, I didn't notice me right hand inching forward. Then, Fleur got up out of her chair, pushed her chair in and made to leave.

Well, I certainly noticed when the leg of a chair landed on my hand.

"ARGH!" I screamed in pain.

Then three things happened simultaneously.

Hermione looked at me in alarm and anger for giving our position away, then seeing the chair leg crushing my hand, hurriedly pushed the chair off my hand and back out.

Fleur and Ron started to ben to look under the table, looking shocked and bewildered.

And the chair that Hermione had pushed back out hit Ron in the groin. Right in the family crown jewels.

**What can I say? I love Alice in wonderland, and Johnny Depp. And I want to learn how to Futterwacken.**

**Well? Did you like it? Was it a fail? Do you look forward to the next chapter? Go on then! Review, my darlings! **

**Oh, and do us a favour, and tell me what parts you liked, so that I write the next chapters more like that.**

**Cheers, bros!**

**Next up**_**: "I don't want your French fries or frilly knickers! And I will not let you conquer me!" I yelled, brandishing the cucumber.**_


	2. Cucumber Mahshitties

**Well, here's the next chapter! Mind you, this story probably won't continue into all of HBP, unless I want it to. If I do a Ginny story, it'll be a longer, one of her p.o.v of OotP and HBP. What do you think? Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourite, alerted and so on. And please review this one too, and let me know WHAT it was that you liked. Any particular lines or things in the chapter **

**Disclaimer: Uh, no. I do not own Harry Potter. I highly doubt J.K Rowling, true owner of Harry Potter, would have Ginny do and think half the things I have her do in this story. . .**

**Review!**

**How wet Hell is, and defence skills taught by the Fat Lady. **

Ron paled, made a choking noise and doubled over in pain, his eyes watering as he cursed continuously under his breath.

"Bloody . . . Shit, Hermione. Ow, fucking ow!" He muttered furiously.

Ohh, wash out that dirty mouth, Ronniekins.

Fleur looked bewildered, astonished and slightly amused all at once. She suddenly grabbed Ron's arm and led him to sit on another chair, fretting pleasantly all at once.

Hermione had started apologising at once, and blushing and trying to get out from under that tale. But at Fleur's actions, her eyes narrowed. She hurriedly got out from under our safe haven, where I was still nursing my hand as I heard Fleur's voice utter "Oh, does eet 'urt much, Ron? Would 'ou like me to get an ice compress for you?"

"Huh?" Ron said dumbly, eyes wide and momentarily distracted from the pain in his crotch.

If Hermione had been glaring before, she was positively shooting off rays of anger towards Fleur from her eyes now. Oh, if only looks _could_ kill.

Meanwhile, while Hermione glared and apologised, Ron groaned in pain and Fleur acted like her usual infuriating self, I grumbled and cursed about my hand.

Thanks, guys. Really, for caring so much. No, I don't need anything, thanks for asking! Goodness, Ron wasn't about to lose his trouser snake, Hermione didn't need to worry so much! And, Fleur! Phlegm! You are already marrying one of my brothers! Stop attempting to ooze your way into another dim-witted brother's head!

Really, they all forgot about me even being there and my poor, poor crushed hand.

"Geeny, what are you doing under zere?"

Well, it seemed they hadn't forgotten about me after all. Should I be flattered, or worried? Then I was distracted from the throbbing pain in my hand to a bigger issue.

Fleur had found me.

A voice in my head wondered where some dramatic music was when it was required.

So, Phlegm had hunted me down, and if I didn't do anything, some psychological pain would join the pain in my hand too.

The bloody _**hell **_I would let Fleur chatter my ears off about dresses and bouquets. I wouldn't go down without a fight. I was a bloody red-headed, fiery tempered, stubborn person.

In short, a Weasley.

So watch out, Miss French Fries.

Ignoring the pain in my right hand, I tightened my grip on my vegetable weapons and muttered a quick 'Merlin, help me or I WILL do voodoo magic and bring you back to life to kill you!". And wondered where the hell Harry was when you needed saving.

Sigh. It really does always come back to him. No, I would HAVE to prove that sniggering voice wrong.

'Uh,' I said to myself 'A more pressing issue present right now! Other than your infatuation with messy-haired, green-eyed boys!'

Taking a deep breath, I rolled out from under the table and leapt up, raising the vegetables.

Which I now saw was a cucumber and an apple.

I did a double take at the fruit and vegetable in my hands, and made a tiny exasperated noise. Really? A cucumber and an apple? Well, I supposed I could use the cucumber as one of those muggle knife weapon things I've heard Hermione mention. What were they called again? Ah, yes. A Mahshitty.

Yeah, strange name for a weapon. Muggles are a little strange though, aren't they?

"Bit rich coming from you, hon.' a snarky voice remarked in my head. Shut up.

Anyway, I raised my cucumber Mahshitty in front of me like a sword and clutched the apple, ready to hurl it at any threat.

Hermione, Ron ad Fleur looked dumbfounded at my behaviour, though Hermione looked as if she would laugh at any second. Ron's eyes were flicking from my makeshift Mahshitty to the apple, and Fleur just looked all innocently bewildered. Oh, don't try innocent with me, Madeline. I grew up with Fred and George.

"Ginny, have you gone barmy?. . ." Ron asked me, looking at me incredulously. Well, Ronald. Not that I'm aware of.

"Geeny, what? . . . What ees zees?" Phlegm asked.

I turned on her. "Don't come any closer!" I yelled hysterically. "I don't want your French fries or frilly knickers and I. ..!" I continued, brandishing the cucumber and stamping my foot emphatically with the last six words.

"French fries?" Ron said, bewildered now. Oh, honestly. Ron and his food. Trust.

"Frilly knickers?" Hermione said, whose face was turning red from the effort it was taking her not to laugh.

This was NOT funny.

"Zat eez utter madness! vous êtes ridicule!"Fleur exclaimed, gesturing with her hands.

The only thing I recognised in her foreign sentence was one word. One word that only ignited my fury even more.

"RIDICULOUS? RIDICULOUS? I AM NOT A BOGGART!" I shrieked. Was she implying that I was terrifying for her to look at?

Oh, I'd become her worst nightmare soon!

She seemed at a complete loss as to how to respond to my 'sudden madness'. Suddenly, she adopted a calm and serene expression and took a few steps towards me. "Geeny, I-"

"NO!" I yelled, backing up to the sink and jabbing the cucumber in her direction threateningly. "I swear, woman. Come any closer and there'll be no cucumber left for the sandwiches! Tell her Ron! Tell her, or the food gets it!"

At this, Ron looked alarmed and started to try and calm me down. "Now, Ginny, calm down. Just relax. Fleur, j-just leave her."

"But I do not understand! Why iz she threatening me with ze vegetable?" Fleur said uncertainly, coming further forward.

By now, I had practically climbed into the sink behind me in my attempt to get further away from her. Merlin, she was persistent. Well, so was I.

"Hermione!" I screamed at my friend in the background. She was standing there, giggling into her hand and not doing a sticking thing to help me. Now, Really! I wasn't no house-elf, but you should always help those in need!

"Yeah,' that snarky voice in my head said, 'now is that something you'll remember later on too, sugar?"

Bloody hell, how many different voices inhabited my head?

"DON"T CALL ME SUGAR!" I shrieked, possibly looking quite bonkers as I did so. Instantly, I realised I had screamed it out loud as Fleur and Ron looked more alarmed and Hermione started to snigger uncontrollably.

"S-Sugar? What, Ginny? Whatever are you on about?" She asked as she gasped for breath.

Not bothering to explain that I was actually yelling at one of the numerous voices in my head, I yelled 'Hermione! Help me! Here, catch!"

And then I threw the apple in my left hand at her.

One of my first fatal mistakes.

I watched, along with and open mouthed Ron and Fleur , as the green projectile flew in an arc through the air, over to where Hermione was still recovering from her laugh and straightening up.

We watched as her eyes grew huge in fright and alarm when she saw the apple sailing towards her, as she lifted her two hands (to try catch it or defend herself, I'll never know) and turned her head away, eyes screwed up and a grimace on her face.

And then it collided with the side of her bushy head.

The hard 'splat!' echoed around the kitchen, making fleur cover her face with her hands, Ron to wince and me to flinch.

Hermione's head jerked back as the apple hit her, and it exploded, causing bits of apple to go flying everywhere. I watched as a piece hit Ron in the eye, and bits got stuck in Fleur's hair.

Sigh. I had forgotten that there was a reason that Hermione freaked out at the thought of playing Quidditch. The girl may be a genius, but she couldn't catch a ball without inhaling a Hagrid-sized tankard of Felix Felicis first.

"Uh. Right. Um, Sorry?" I squeaked pathetically. Then, as I made to get up, I made my second fatal mistake. As Hermione glared at me with eyes full of promise of revenge, I shifted my body, my cucumber Mahshitty still in my possession. I briefly wondered if I still needed to protect myself against Fleur, but one look at her confirmed that she would be too busy cursing in French and disgustedly pulling out apple from her hair to come after little ol' me right now.

The end of the cucumber hit the tap of cold water behind me and it twisted considerably, that water coming out in a huge gush. You're probably like, 'so what? So the water's running? Turn the tap off, you dim girl!"

Except that my knee was in the way.

The jet of water ricocheted off my leg and sprayed the whole kitchen, dousing a grumbling Ron (who had a hand over his crotch AND eye now), a scowling Fleur and an annoyed looking Hermione.

Well, she certainly wouldn't look annoyed anymore after this, that's for sure.

She would look murderous. I didn't need no Professor Trelawney to predict that.

Fleur screamed as the cold water hit her, drenching her thoroughly.

If this had been any other situation, I would have done a mad victory jig with much hip thrusting. Alas, the situation did not allow it.

Ron yelled "BLOODY HELL!" and Hermione, ever the logical one, fell to the floor in an effort to get out of harm's way.

Well, if Ron had needed a cold shower because Hermione was around, he certainly got it.

I just sat there in shock, getting the worst of the spray before toppling out of the sink and twisting the tap to stop the flow. The absence of my leg made it stop bouncing off around the kitchen, letting Hermione get up, stumbling and looking as if she had just gone for a swim with the Giant Squid.

Actually, we all sort of gave off that same impression.

"Well, that would be nice." A voice that sounded just as vague and dreamy as Luna's said in my head (another one!) "I think the Squid would appreciate that very much." It was the same voice that wondered about Harry at the most random and inappropriate times.

So the voice that wonders about random things at random times sounds like Luna Lovegood. Figures.

"Shit. Sorry. I'm so bloody, honest-to-Merlin sorry!" I muttered as I turned to face the three.

Then we froze as Bill sprinted into the room, wand raised. He skidded and face-planted onto the floor (I had to try SO hard not to laugh) before springing back up again to face whatever danger was around. Mum followed, looking mental as her hair flew everywhere, she muttered about her 'babies', and brandishing her wand, in a fashion much like I had done with the now slippery wet cucumber.

Oh. Slippery wet cucumber. Oh, har har. Get your mind out of the gutter.

"We heard. . ." Bill said and trailed off as he took in our dripping states and the amount of water in the kitchen.

". . . someone scream." Mum finished, eyeing all of us while still searching the room as if she was expecting Bellatrix to pop out and kill us all.

"Fleur, honey, what happened? You're wet as hell!" Bill said, managing to somehow ogle his fiancée while looking concerned at the same time.

Oh, lord. No. stop. Stop laughing. Get your mind out of Gringott's deepest underground vaults.

Before I can help myself, I'm suddenly giggling. And then, before I know it, I'm doubled up in hysterical giggles and snickers. This is your entire fault. And by laughing right now, I'm just digging myself into a deeper hole. No, a deeper well, I should say, considering my drenched state.

After I gain control of my breathing pattern, I look up to see everyone staring at me, though Hermione looks as if she's understood what I was laughing at. She's shooting me a 'You are SO immature' look.

Oh, go pick that apple out of your hair, Miss Prissy.

I poke my tongue out at her, just proving her estimation on my maturity correct, and turn to hear Fleur explaining that I accidently hit the tap and the water just went everywhere.

While she explains , and I try to deny my thankfulness that she didn't be a little tattle-tale and tell them the whole story, I think back to Bill's sentence before.

"You're wet as hell!" After stifling another snigger, I contemplate that actual sentence. I had to disagree with that statement, William. Because, when people curse me to hell, which is a very frequent event, it's usually along the lines of 'hope you die and end up in the fiery pits of Hades', which is where, I believe, hell is. Therefore, I beg to differ, Billy dear, when you say 'wet as hell.'

If hell is what you're comparing her to, then she's not very wet at all. (Snort)

Though as for hell's torturous nature, she and hell might have more in common than you think.

But then again, if Hades is fiery, I always thought he and I, or 'it' and I, would get along juuuust fine.

I snapped back to reality and out of my 'I'm doing some deep thinking' face to find Mum glowering at me, Ron sulking, Hermione smirking at me and Bill interrogating Phlegm about what happened.

Really, does it matter? The girl already told him that it was a simple matter of an accidental nudge and Fleur, Ron, Hermione and my inability to duck fast enough. Though I have to say, after the whole Ministry fiasco, I had significantly improved me reflexes to duck. But I wouldn't let myself think of that. It led to thinking about Harry, and Sir-.

No. I refuse to go down that train of thought.

"Bill, eet was nuzzling! We did not get attacked, you can leave it now!"

I was, needless to say, surprised. Phlegm was not ratting me out to ''er precious Beel'". Hermione's raised eyebrows suggested that she too, was surprised by this new behaviour.

But the Mum got involved. And she seemed to have spotted something in my expression and pounced like Crookshanks.

"Ginny. What is your role in all this?"

Uh, the protagonist? "Just a side character, mum. A minor role." I quipped.

"Oh, yeah? Didn't seem like that when you were screaming like a banshee at Fleur." Ron said scathingly. It seemed his crotch and eye were hurting pretty badly.

As I watched Mum's eyes narrow at me, I mentally shot a promise to Ron through a heated glare that I would part those same body parts that were in pain from his body. Claw his eyes out, and apologise to Hermione that she would not be able to reproduce with my brother if they got married, as I had brutally ripped his little tattle-tale balls off.

Ugh. Someone have sex with my brother? Oh, gag.

"Ginny?" My mother simply said, indirectly demanding an explanation.

"Oh, mum." I said in a falsely cheerful and exasperated voice. "Ronnie is just exaggerating." I shot a smirk at a red and glaring Ron. I wouldn't rip his balls off, as I had about as much desire to ever see him in that state of undress as I had to see a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but I _could_ humiliate him. Something I do best, only second to the twins.

'I was just teaching Fleur some English phrases. How to fight off insistent boys in English, and some self-defence with house objects." I said, waving the cucumber vaguely.

Fleur and Bill looked confused, Ron looked gobsmacked (HA!) and Hermione was staring at me incredulously. Yes, I am just THAT good. If I didn't loathe Slytherin, I would say that after Gryffindor, I belonged in there because of my brilliant ability to lie so easily.

"And how Ginevra, pray tell, do you know these skills?" Mum asked me, a stern expression on her face.

Oooooooh, she played dirty. Then again, she _was _Fred and George's mother.

"The Fat Lady taught me." I blurted out.

"That Fat Lady?" All of them but Fleur chorused. Phlegm just looked confused and reproachful that we could call a woman such a thing.

"Yeah. She does some weird things when she's drunk." I said carelessly.

What? She does.

Looking slightly mollified, (haha, my mother, Molly, is mollified.) but still suspicious, mum turned to wave her wand and dry the kitchen up.

Bill started fretting over Phlegm and how she should change into some dry clothing, while she started to answer him in a thoroughly non-verbal way. Involving tongue.

I controlled my gag reflex and mentally did a victory dance involving hip thrusts at avoiding a Molly Weasley telling off so well. I had to say, a very small, never to be heard thank you to Fleur for not blowing my story into smithereens by telling the truth.

A _never to be heard_ thank you.

I decided that before I change my status of avoiding a lecture to enduring a lecture, I should make like a banana and peel on out here.

What was it with me and fruits and vegetables today?

Still unconsciously holding onto my cucumber, I moved out of the kitchen, dripping all the way, and started up the staircase to change.

I was up a few steps when I heard Phlegm calling me again.

"Geeny! Geeny!"

Sighing deeply and deciding that I couldn't attack her with the cucumber this time because Mum and Bill were down there, and because my cucumber already looked battered enough, I turned wearily.

Phlegm appeared, still managing to look fantastic while drenched. My scowl deepened. Why couldn't I look like that?

"Uh, because you're not part Veela?" A voice stated tentatively in my mind.

"Beside the point." I thought, waving it off. Maybe if I looked like Ms Croissant did, Harry would take notice of me. After all, Cho Chang was admittedly gorgeous. Jealousy and envy so strong that I wouldn't be surprised if I turned green rose up in me whenever I thought of the Ravenclaw. I remembered last year when they were together (growl) and how many girls in my year had gossiped about how the two looked so great together, Harry and Cho both being quite gifted in the appearance department.

I wasn't an ugly hag, but I was no Veela. Or part Veela.

But why was I thinking this? Why did my insides writhe with jealousy at the thought of Cho? Why did I want to look like Fleur when Harry saw me? Why, why, why?

"Oh, I think you know exactly why, sweetie." Another of my mind-voices commented. But, I ignored it. As it was making no sense whatsoever. I mean, I liked Dean Thomas. My boyfriend. I should, _I did_, want to look good for him.

I pulled myself out of my self-pity wallowing jealousy fit to listen to Madame Escargot jabber on.

"-And so you muzzer 'ad asked me to come let you know, zat you are to change ze bedsheets in Fred and George's room." She finished.

For a second I wondered how she could still speak to me so normally after I had threatened her with a cucumber, before I realised what she had said.

"Wait, what? Why? Fred and George aren't coming back are they?" I asked confused. Don't get me wrong, I love the twins. Some of my favourites, those two. But it's nice to not get constantly woken up during the night because of mini explosions erupting from their room.

"No, no, silly girl." She said, chiming a laugh like a wind chime. It just made me want to stuff a wind chime down her slender throat.

"I 'ave just told you! 'Arry eez to be arriving 'ere tomorrow, and he will be staying in zere."

My mouth gaped open, my eyes widened and my heart suddenly thumped an erratic pattern. And my grip slackened on my cucumber Mahshitty and it fell and landed on my foot. Cursing, I bent and grabbed the cucumber.

"S-sorry? Who's coming?" I stuttered. Yes. I, Ginny bloody Weasley stuttered for the first time in, possibly, years. Just look at what that boy did to me. And why? Why did his name have such an effect on me? Dean. Dean. No, no mouth-open, eyes-wide expression and no vegetable crushing my big toe.

"Arry, of course." Whereas Harry. Harry. Mmmm. I think I may have a heart attack, the way it was doing a drum roll in my chest. What the hell? Phlegm's smile brightened as she said his name, making me clench my teeth and narrow my eyes. Oh, no. Hell, no Ms Francais. Not Harry too.

"Right." I muttered crossly, glaring at her. But she paid me no mind.

"I must say, 'Arry's presence might make zings a leetle more eenterezting" She said as she turned away.

Ah, truer words were never spoken, Phlegm. I had to give her that, as I very grudgingly agreed with her.

Harry would be here, and my heart would probably beat right out of my chest when I saw him.

How could I keep sane, remember Dean and not have heart failure around Harry when he arrived?

Hermione would probably say "We need a plan. Avoid him, and be polite but don't spend too much time around him. Make it clear where you stand."

But I say, I'll just wing it.

And the many voices in my mind cheered as I turned to trudge up the stairs, gripping my cucumber, dripping and muttering "Oh, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. . . "

**Not particularly proud of this chapter, to be honest with you. It's decent. **

**Anyway, tell me what YOU thought! Please! I only get motivated to write this when people like my brilliant reviewers last chapter tell me that they think this is funny and they like/love it. Thank you, btw, to those magnificent humans that left those kind words for me.**

**And for those who Alert, or favourite my story, stories or me, THANK YOU SOOO BLOODY MUCHO! Buuut, I'd love it if you reviewed too! And again, please tell me WHAT you liked, as then I can write more like that. If that makes sense. . .**

**Cheerio!**

**Next Chapter: **_**Winging it was about to become very difficult. . . Damn. No, not damn as in 'oh no, I can't avoid him, too bad', damn as in 'Daaayyyumm, he's looking fine'. Well, THAT is an understatement, I thought, as I stared at him.**_


	3. The Seeds that crowd Knockturn Alley

**A/N Hellloo People! Yes, I'm still actually alive! Look, I'm sorry, okay? That I took so long to write this and then upload it. It was the end of a school year for me over here in Aus, and I had exams and other 'end of year' things going on. But I have holidays now, and though I can't promise very fast updates, I promise I won't take two months to update again. **

**I know in my last 'Next up' thing, it seemed that Harry was finally going to make his appearance, but I started writing this and realised that I couldn't jump that far ahead. I've already started writing that chapter, the next one, so he WILL be in the next one. We've reached that point people. **

**So, Merry Christmas, Happy shopping on Boxing Day and I wish you all a very Happy New year. **

**So read on, and please, please leave me a late Christmas present and review! **

**Disclaimer: Nah, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. **

** The seeds that crowd Knockturn Alley.**

"Nghaaaaaahhh!" My yell was muffled by my pillow as I jerked awake, finding my arms flapping wildly around me as if to ward off the cucumber that was terrorizing me in my dream.

I really should not have utilised that cucumber earlier that day. It seemed to be affecting me psychologically.

I dropped my arms, pulling my pillow off my face and breathed deeply. I blinked blearily around my small room. It was still pitch black dark out, and clearly the middle of the night. As the rest of my senses hurried to catch up and my eyes adjusted to the dark, I let out a gust of air and tried to calm my galloping heart.

Honestly. Why it does that every time awkwardly cute boys, Phlegm, frilly knickers, Tommy boy, studying, exams and Fred and George's product testers are mentioned, I'll never know. I mean, it's an organ. Not a damn hippogriff. IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO GALLOP!

Suddenly, the sound of low chatter from below interrupted my furious musings about my wrongly galloping heart. My body tensed up, I clenched my hands into fists in the sheets and screwed my face up in concentration, trying to hear who it was. I couldn't recognise the voices, although I _do _think Mum was one of them.

Merlin's boxers, who was _she_ chatting to at _this_ ungodly hour?

'Well,' one of my resident in-head voices said. 'Could be your Dad." It was speaking to me with an air of trying to explain this to a six-year-old. Scowling, I considered the possibility. Yeah, that must have been it. Dad was always arriving incredibly late these days, causing mum to be even more anxious and worry more than usual. That women worries so much, what with being Fred and George's mother, the mother of Harry Freakin Potter's best friend's mum, Ronald's mother, Arthur Weasley, all things muggle-lover's wife, oh and Voldemort's return, it's no wonder I've caught her peering at strands of her hair in the mirror with an anxious expression lately. I wouldn't be surprised if the Weasley hair's turning a little grey either, Mum.

I contemplated the option of creeping onto the landing to look and see if it was my parents down there and not some Death Eaters, but my mind automatically rejected the dangerous idea. It then frantically presented me with a very reasonable and alarming reason not to go. No, I did NOT want to walk in on the Snr Weasleys snogging. I shuddered at the few memories that had scarred my brothers and I for life. I sunk lower into my bed and yanked my covers up, as if they could shield me from the haunting memories of my parents kissing. Ugh. If I had been attacked by a cucumber in my dream before and thought THAT was bad, it would be nothing compared to the images that would terrorize me in my sleep now. I could do with some Dreamless Sleep potion right about now. Seriously.

What would I rather dream about? Quidditch. Bill breaking off his engagement to Phlegm. Fudge and Umbridge being attacked by Cornish Pixies.

_Harry._

No, wait what? Not Harry. Nononono. Dean. Yep. Dean. . . Nahhh. As much as I liked Dean, and as good of a kisser he was, I didn't really want him present in my dream. No, I think I would stick with Quidditch.

_Playing Quidditch with Harry._

Hmmm. I wouldn't mind that. Playing Quidditch with Harry. In a purely platonic way. Harry is an amazing Quidditch player. Don't look at me like that, everyone knows it. I can say that in completely innocent way. It's a known fact.

It was also a known fact among girls that Harry looked amazing while playing Quidditch too…You heard it everywhere. Girls gossiping or gushing about it in bathrooms, in whispers in the library, in the common room or simply in corridors when he happened to pass. About the way he brushed his gorgeously messy hair impatiently out of the way when it fell into his equally gorgeous eyes. The cute way he was constantly pushing his gasses up his nose, and how they were often crooked. How good of a body he had, and how all that Quidditch training must have payed off. When all the girls sighed as that same lean body that girls wanted to get a peek at twisted and turned gracefully as he shot through the air. And they all thought his bum looked quite fantastic too. Actually, whether on foot or in the air, Harry did have a fantastic backside. Just one of his many assets.

"_Honey, these are all the thoughts that often go through __**your**__ mind in his presence. None of the other girls notice half the things you do."_

Yes they do!

"_Nuh uh. They don't appreciate just how good he looks when he's flying. Not as much as you. And I'm sure their heart doesn't skip a beat when he runs his hand through his hair, or when he looks at them. Nor do I think any of them spend quite as much time as you do checking out his bum." _

My heart does not skip a beat every time he looks at me or runs his hand through his hair!

'_Not every time, then._' The voice continued smugly '_Not anymore."_

Grrrrrrrrrr. FINE THEN! I do have eyes you know. And I am a girl, though after growing up with six brothers, I'm sure I could fool you. I can't help notice these things. He's an attractive boy. And I'm female. These things happen. IT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING, DO YOU UNDERSTAND, INTERNAL VOICES?

I mean, I've heard from somewhere (McGonagall?) that Lily, Harry's mum, and James Potter, Harry's dad, weren't the best of friends before about their sixth year. But if he looked anything like Harry (and I know he did, because Harry hears that everywhere he goes. 'You look identical to your Dad! Except for your eyes. You have-" ''Yeah, yeah. I have my mother's eyes.) Then I doubt Lily could help but notice things about James. I bet she admitted he was attractive, and she must have checked him out often. She might even have fancied him, and been in denial.

_Sound familiar, Darl?_

No. I answered back stubbornly. Not at all.

I could hear someone heading up the stairs, and thought that it was probably a good idea for me to sleep now. I decided to brave the onslaught of terrible images sure to engulf me, and snuggled down into bed to sleep. Smiling at the thought of Harry playing Quidditch, I drifted off back to sleep.

I could just hear that voice laughing at me. The great prat.

* * *

><p>I sat slumped over my breakfast, moving my scrambled eggs around my plate as I tried to tune Phlegm's monologue out. She was going on and on about the preparations for the wedding. Then again, when wasn't she? At the moment, she was moaning and complaining-gorgeously-about the abysmal amount of colours that go with my Weasley hair. Actually, she complained about it so often that I wouldn't be surprised if she pulled a Molly Weasley and forcibly changed my hair. As much as I revelled in the annoyance it provided Fleur, I did have to grudgingly agree with her that having my hair did cause difficulties.<p>

"Peenk eez such a nize colour, ezpecially for weddings-but eet just weel not work." Phlegm sighed at the tragedy.

I tuned out and ignored her for the good of my ears. And brain, as it was dangerously close to turning into mush. It was as if Fleur's voice had some sort of turn-brains-into-mush power. I mean, just look at Bill and Ron. Well, I contemplated as I chewed my eggs, Ron didn't really count. His brain ALREADY was mush.

"_Chickadee, he would require to have one in the first place for it to be mush or not"_

Um. Chickadee? I think I had been spending too much time around The Burrow's chickens. The things my head comes up with.

I looked down at the wooden table and casually covered my face with my hand so that no one would see me snickering, and mentally high fived the voice that had insulted Ron. It was times like these when I was willing to accept the existence of the voices in my head.

"_When we insult you're brother. Real classy, Darl." _

But they really needed to stop referring to me as all these mad names. Darl? Chickadee? Sugar? Merlin, even Phlegm hadn't gotten that sickening.

Yes. Comparing them to Phlegm, and saying they're worse. I had gone there. I could feel the shocked and offended demeanours of the voices.

Back to the original topic.

As for Dad, he had eyes and ears for no one but Mum, and THANK BLOODY MERLIN, because if my father went over to the dark side **(*)**, then goddamit, we really were doomed.

Fred and George? Of course they acknowledged that Phlegm was gorgeous. Anyone with eyes knew THAT. Hell, I think Errol probably knows and saw how gag-worthy pretty she was. But the twins were always too amused in watching Fleur and Mum verse each other in battle of the "Most Important Woman in Bill Weasley's life", to become bumbling fools around Phlegm. Actually, I don't see those two ever becoming bumbling idiots around anyone. God forbid the ever amusing and cool Weasley twins act like idiots around a girl and risk their 'reps'. Snort.

I looked up as Ron thundered down the stairs and Hermione appeared behind him, following at a slower and more normal pace.

Well, well, well. What do we have here? Coming down to breakfast together now, are we? I wouldn't be surprised if one went and woke the other one up. Or even slept in the same room.

Either one, looks like Ronnie finally grew some balls and made a move. 10 points to Gryffindor!

"Good Morning, you two." Mum said cheerfully and loudly, cutting across Phlegm's ongoing rant about my hair. Ever the oblivious one, Mum is. _Heeellllooo_ Mother! May I just point out that your _youngest son just came down to breakfast with his best friend?_ Who is a girl and we all know he is in love with?I think this is the cue for raised eyebrows or something? Maybe even an exceedingly embarrassing (for them two) and entertaining (for me) birds and the bees lecture? And contraceptive spell lessons? But I musn't get my hopes up.

I smirked at Hermione as she sat from across from me after greeting Mum back.

"Mooooorrning' I said **(**)**, stretching the word out with a suggestive lilt, adding a wink and a smirk when Hermione looked up towards me. She looked a little confused at first, but then proceeded to go pink when she understood after I flicked a glance over to where Ron was, scoffing down his breakfast with indecent enthusiasm.

She gave me a very sarcastic look, along with a 'Good Morning to you too, Ginny." Which plainly said 'Uh, no, Ginny darling. Your brother and I did not spend the night cuddling."

"How are we this fine morning?" I asked, while throwing her a look that sarcastically stated 'Pity", with a slight twist of my mouth and a roll of my eyes.

"Fantastic." She said, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Really? God, Hermione, I dunno how you can feel so bloody awake in the morning. I could do with another hour or so in bed." Ron interjected, yawning and giving us a lovely view of the eggs suffering a painful demise in his overly-large mouth.

"RON!" Mum, Hermione and I yelled, all sounding repulsed. Mum threw a napkin at him, Hermione threw a disgusted glare at him and I threw a spoon at him.

For goodness sake, how can Hermy like such a buffoon? And she's supposed to be smart.

"Oi, OW!" Ron yelped from behind the napkin, which had landed on his face, rubbing his shoulder, where the spoon had bounced off him.

Fleur had stopped talking, for once, and was staring wide-eyed at all four of us as if we were one of Hagrid's safer, less harmful pets. I smirked in satisfaction as the reprimand for using cutlery as projectiles to throw at my brother never came, as Mum was now too distracted ranting about Ron's non-existent manners and what our guests must think of the Weasley household and Mum and Dad's abilities in raising children.

I zoned out again. I had experienced _waahaay _too many Molly Weasley tirades to listen to this one, one that didn't even concern me whatsoever. I stared at the tomato sauce placed directly in my line of sight and glared at it. My dream, or nightmare, last night involving cucumbers and other conspiring fruits and vegetables had put me in a rather unhappy mood with them all. Wasn't tomato a fruit? Or was it a vegetable? I mean, you don't really hear anyone say 'Oh, I'm hungry. Think I'll go cut up a tomato." Like they do with other fruits. Where had I heard that it was a fruit?

"_Does it really matter?"_ One of my in-head voices muttered.

Of Course it mattered! This is the categorisation of a being in the world! As upset as I was with fruits and veges, I could never deny any of them the feeling of belonging. To say it didn't matter whether a tomato was a fruit or a vegetable was like saying that it didn't matter where a first year was sorted, into Gryffindor or Slytherin! It was Preposterous! To deny tomatoes that feeling of belonging was just cruel. Furious at the injustice of denying tomatoes the chance of belonging to a group, I looked up at Hermione with a fierce scowl on my face and a determined glint in my eyes. Who else better than the know-it-all to ask?

"Hermione." I snapped.

She glanced up from her cup of tea, where she seemed to have been staring into the depths. A part of my brain that wasn't focused on the categorisation of tomatoes contemplated this.

Wow, Hermione must really be desperate. Resorting to tea leaf reading and Divination in general? No, honey, you're not going to find any answers in there. Not even the tea leaves can tell you why Ron hasn't made a move yet.

Anyway, so back to the tomatoes.

Hermione glanced up from her cup. "Yes Ginny?" She said, and upon seeing my expression, did a small double take, her eyes widening in alarm as she took in my scowl and narrowed eyes.

"What is a tomato?" I demanded.

"W-what?" Hermione spluttered, looking completely bewildered. Oh, honestly. Couldn't her tea leaves answer this one for her?

"What's a tomato?" I said forcefully, my eyes so wide that I could feel the strain on my ciliary muscles. I must have looked quite deranged.

"I-I don't know what you're on about Ginny." Now she was looking a bit concerned, too. I am not mad! Merlin's bootleg jeans, I am just trying to insure injustice doesn't happen to tomatoes!

I stood up abruptly, so abruptly that I shoved the table a good few centimetres. Ron spat out orange juice as the table rammed into his stomach, setting Mum off on another disgusted lecture about manners. It really isn't Ron's week.

Fleur continued to hum and ignore us all, as I think she had come to the conclusion that we were all barmy by now. Hermione looked a little scared as I banged my fist on the table top in indignation.

"What is a tomato, goddamit!' I was lucky Mum was too busy telling Ron off, or I would have gotten an earful about inappropriate language. 'You would think, being resident know-it-all, that you would have an answer to this simple question! Is it a fruit or a vegetable, woman! What is the bloody point of reading Hogwarts: A History, if you don't know what a tomato is?" I yelled in frustration, pointing at the tomato sauce. Behind me, I could hear Mum continue to berate Ron about his manners. Or lack of manners.

It just wouldn't be the Weasley household if someone wasn't yelling.

"Calm down, Ginny." Hermione, for some reason, seemed to look slightly relieved, although she still looked scared. "It's a fruit. Because if a product produced by a plant contains seeds, it's called a fruit." She said, morphing more and more into class- mode, walking-talking reference book mode as she spoke.

Finally, an answer! Thank thumping Thestrals!

"Thank you, Hermione." I said curtly as I sat back down. It seemed Mum was done with scolding Ron too.

"That's funny." Ron suddenly said, his face wearing a slightly idiotic smile. 'There're plenty of seeds in Knockturn Alley, but I've never heard of a fruit by the name of that!" Ron chuckled, and looked around the table expectantly, as if waiting for us to laugh with him.

Hermione's eyebrows flew to her hairline as she stared at him. I stared at him with a look that clearly questioned his sanity, and Phlegm continued to hum and ignore us all. Mum also stared at Ron incredulously. At seeing all our expressions at his failed attempt of a joke, Ron's chuckles subsided as he realised no one thought it quite as amusing as he did.

"Did you come up with that all on your own? Well done, Ronnie! 20 points to Gryffindor!" I said in mock enthusiastic tone, as if praising a four-year-old and reached across the table to pat his arm.

"Gerrof." He muttered, swatting at my hand as I snickered and Hermione hid her smile

"And how would you know, Ronald Weasley, just how many seeds there are in Knockturn Alley?" Mum suddenly asked, fixing him with a threatening glare.

"I-um-Harry, uh, told me." Oh, bloody bowtruckles. There goes my heart again. Take me to St Mungos. 'You know how he ended up there once, in summer before second year?" Ron stumbled. "Yeah, he told me." He finished, nodding as his face steadily turned redder under Mum's stare.

"Hmmm." Mum said, before tearing her gaze away from her cowering son and turning back to the dishes. "speaking of Harry…"

Yes, speaking of Harry will result in Ginny Weasley's untimely death, after suffering from major heart palpitations.

_Yes, speaking of Harry…Are we going to chat about other sexy specimens of the wizard kind now?_

SHUT IT!

"I should take a tray up to him. It's getting rather late, but he must be so tired. Arrived in the middle of the night with Dumbledore, poor dear…" Mum continued to mutter.

"What, Harry's here?" Ron and Hermione both yelled, jumping up simultaneously. This time the table rammed into me, causing me to spit out _my_ orange juice.

_Sure it was the table, Darl, and not the news of the arrival of Sir I'd-Snog-A-Lot Potter?_

Shut up. Don't talk to me. We're fighting. Leave. Now.

Mum and I watched as Ron thundered back up the stairs, Hermione not far behind him.

"DON'T BOTHER HIM RON!" Mum yelled up after them, and then shaking her head, muttered 'Those three…like three chickens in a coop."

I turned my head slowly to stare at Mum incredulously, Fleur actually stopping her bloody constant humming to do the same. Three chickens in a coop? Really? Okay, I think we ALL need to spend some time away from our chickens. It's dangerous.

As Mum continued washing and Phlegm went on humming, I wondered about how to casually leave the kitchen and slip into Fred and George's room to see Harry (cue uneven heart rate). I bit my lip, and started to get up when Mum turned around.

"Ginny, what on earth are these seeds that crowd Knockturn Alley?" Mum asked me, curious, confused and worried.

I straightened up full out of my chair and turned to look at my mother. After a second's pause, in which I became aware that Phlegm was also listening for my answer, I said "Because seeds originate from fruits, Mum. And fruits are evil and dangerous. Therefore, seeds are the things that evil produces and evil sprouts from. So, all the people in Knockturn Alley are seeds."

And with that wise statement, I calmly pushed my chair in and took my leave, starting towards Fred and George's room, and leaving Phlegm and Mum to contemplate the genius that was my logic.

**Not that proud of this one. I'm looking forward to the one that Harry turns up in. the next one. Get excited!**

**Soooo? Remember that Christmas present? The review? C'mon! It'll take you a few minutes at the most! I'll update faster if you tell me you liked it. If you, ah, did like it, that is. *awkward***

**Brilliant ;) **


	4. Been good to you, puberty has

**Wow. um. hello.**

**You have no idea how good it felt to actually write something and finish it today. I neglected studying for a practice exam, doing my final piece for Studio Art, and an essay for English, yes, but after so long with no inspiration or anything, when I finally started and got going today, I couldn't stop. I will admit I'm not very proud of this chapter. The only part I enjoy is when she finally sees Harry for the first time-oh yeah! that part, it's finally here! but after that, all the conversation is as it is in the book, so it's not that exciting. at all. I'm sorry if you're disappointed :s But, well, yeah. um. yeah. **

**You guys gotten your copies of Casual Vacancy? How is it?**

**Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter, or any of Jo's characters, or any of the parts of HBP that i have used in this story or chapter. **

**Please leave a review. I know I'm quite rusty, because it's been a .time since I last wrote. But whether you have praise or constructive criticism to offer, please, leave a few words. or sentences preferred.**

* * *

><p><strong> Been good to you, puberty has. <strong>

I don't know why I was tip-toeing. This is MY house. Hello, why am I nervous and not stomping up the stairs like I own the place?! Because as the adored youngest and only daughter of the house, I practically do, GODDAMIT!

'Honey, careful, or your ego won't let you fit through the door of the room to see Mr-no-one-hotter-Potter.'

"Shut up!" I said aloud to the irritating voice in my head. The sudden moan that the ghoul let out echoed through the landings, letting me know just how loud that was. What was the point of tip-toeing? I looked around cautiously, making sure that I disturbed no one but our resident already-pretty-disturbed ghoul. Lowering my voice, I whispered 'And you really need to make a decision and settle on one name for him. And my ego is NOT big!'

"Oh, so you agree that you think that way of his green-eyed majesty?'

I fumbled, gasped in annoyance and outrage, gave a muffled groan of frustration, mentally slapped the voice and proceeded to now stomp up the rest of the stairs, done with being cautious in my own home just because of his green-eyed beautiful majesty.

Oh, for the sake of Merlin's curly grey locks.

"And how would you know that his hair was curly? Don't make assumptions, Ginevra. I'll have you know that Merlin had luscious pin straight brown hair, darling."

I paused, one of my feet hovering in mid-air, and closed my eyes, praying to any godly entity for patience that Weasleys or red-heads were not usually blessed with.

"That makes absolutely no sense." I thought.

"And how not?!" The mental voice exclaimed, me recognising an indignant note in the tone. "What, only girls these days can have pin-straight hair? I'll have you know, Merlin needed no potions to achieve the look. It was as natural as the absurd red of your hair (cue the narrowing of my eyes), as the idiocy of your brothers and the passion that you, as a female, have for Mr Hot-and-brooding Harry and certain anatomy of his-'

"WHOA!' I exclaimed, my feet slipping and nearly ending in me taking a fatal tumble down the stairs. Recovering from the near-death experience, I straightened myself up and held my hands out, screwing my eyes up, nose scrunched up as a deep blush stained my cheeks.

"Please, please shut up, shut up, shut up, for the sake of Merlin's pin straight brown locks" I begged, snapping my head from side to side, as if to have the mental voice fling out of one of my ears. I really didn't need this. I didn't need talks of Merlin's hair, and certain anatomy of Harrybabes (I choked at the thought). Especially whilst I was walking up stairs. That's dangerous stuff on any good day, and my situation here was as deadly as it could get.

"Can't handle the truth of your conscience, I see? Now, tell me how it makes no sense that Merlin had model-worthy pin-straight hair" The stubborn voice demanded. It was times like this that I could appreciate that this certainly was one of my my inner voices speaking. The stubborn-ness was so evident, that I could just imagine it crossing its little imaginary arms as it took a defiant stance.

"Because I never knew, never have known, what Merlin's hair was like. And as you are a part of me, and your knowledge only consists of my knowledge, I believe you shouldn't know anything about what Merlin's hair really was like either. Therefore, your information is faulty and frankly, you could shut up anytime now." I rambled off, reminding myself slightly of Hermione with my use of logic, as I climbed the rest of the stairs to the landing that Fred and George's room was on.

The voice snorted, and my confidence at my winning response dimmed.

"Nice try, sweet cheeks, but you seem to have forgotten that as a mental part of you, I also represent unconscious, repressed, and suppressed thoughts. Like, the suppressed guilt at being the one that accidently knocked Trelawney out with that crystal ball, and the secret joy you feel when you do have a flashback of the incident, the hexes you've sent at Filch, the annoyance you feel at your mother sometimes for babying you, and the rumours that have spread about the size of Harry's-"

"Gah!" I choked and spluttered, effectively not being able to hear the end of that sentence as the blush that had previously been fading returned

'And you have in fact, heard of Merlin's true appearance in one of those rambles of Ms Burbage's which make it as clear as Phlegm's skin that was he not dead, Charity Burbage would totally want to get into Merlin's pants.' It finished off smugly.

"Can you not" I whispered furiously. Okay, this is getting out of hand. The voices just made occasional snarky comments before. Now, I'm having full arguments with them! Oh lord, Merlin, Jesus, Santa, Jack Frost, please help me retain my sanity.

And as I was praying to all magical beings that I could think of at the given moment, I heard it.

'-looks a bit like a walrus and he used to be Head of Slytherin..'

And then I was certain that there had been no point of me trying to tip-toe my way up the stairs, because my heart started pumping so hard and loud, that I was pretty sure Viktor Krum could probably hear it.

I lost complete focus of annoying voices in my head, the rest of the sentence spoken behind that door, and my sanity, Santa and his reindeers could crash in Amsterdam for all I cared at that moment. I took a step forward, before stopping and quickly trying to finger-comb my hair. My fingers came to an abrupt halt halfway down, and got stuck like all combs end up in Hagrid's hair.

"Shit shit shit shit." I muttered furiously, yanking my hand down to the point of pain as I tried to get it free of its flaming and hairy prison. It finally came free in a crucio-worthy yank, making me gasp and let out a stream of explicit mutterings. I shook off the bunch of my own hair that I had managed to pull out, and took two large steps toward the door of Fred and George's room. Taking a deep breath to calm my erratic heart, I pressed my thumbs against my eyelashes in attempt to give them an uplifted, curlier look. I pulled my hair in front of my chest, hoping that it would cover the attempts of my heart to burst through my chest and dance over to Harry and offer itself as a sacrifice to him. Or something.

As I wrestled with my hair, I noted that Phlegm probably never had to deal with anything like this. With her hair cooperating, effortlessly looking gag-worthy good, no heart bent on committing suicide, all 'Beel-bask-in-my-perfection'. It made me frown, then scowl and then angry-scowl. Giving up on my stupid hair, I was brought back down to earth from my inner-girly world's high. What was I thinking? I didn't like Harry anymore. I thought that was blatantly obvious since I could actually speak to him without resembling the colour of my house, Gryffindor, and oh yeah-My boyfriend, Dean, maybe?

"Stop being a bloody idiotic prat, Ginny." I said firmly to myself.

'Talking to yourself? Signs of madness." A snide voice commented inside my already fried head.

Why must life be so difficult?

Looking at the door in utter desolation, I heard the one and only say 'He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"

I don't know why I was upset, and why I was suddenly feeling so utterly pissed off at Phlegm. Someone logical would easily be able to point out that maybe I was just a little bit maybe not jealous but envious of her lack of need to care.

Whatever.

When all else fails, Anger never fails to work for a Weasley.

So I made my entrance. Without really thinking, I slouched in and said the first thing that came to mind.

'I know someone who's worse than Umbridge,' I said, my voice dripping with irritation. Ron, the bloody big buffoon, was blocking my view. I needed my first glance already.

Walking a few more steps into the crowded, dusty room, I manoeuvred myself so that nothing would obstruct my view. And then I turned to face Him.

Oh. My. Fucking. Merlins. Pin. Straight. Hair. And. Pants.

Is it just me, or did the world just stop?

Even my inner voices are awed. They ARE a part of me.

Dancing dragons. Lolloping llamas. Careening carrots. Tap-dancing tomatoes. Prancing potatoes.

Gilderoy Lockhart will be long forgotten and seen as a gargoyle when everyone wakes up to how good puberty has been to Harry Potter.

He's…beautiful. Ugh. But he is. His eyes are so bright, even with his glasses on, as his attention turns to me from Hermione. They're like the green of the leprechauns at the World Cup. Like..like the sprouts that Mum makes us peal. Like a prettier version of Slytherin's emerald green. They seem to be awakening the golden snitches inside my intestines as he looks at me.

His face has lost all last traces of softness, leaving his face all cheekbones and a sharp-edged jaw. And his hair, oh god, his hair. The infamous Potter hair is even messier than usual; the inky, soft strands all over the place and stubborn bits of his slight fringe partially hanging sexily over his forehead. It's like, ultimate sex/bed-hair. Oh dear lord. Someone grab a quill and write down my last will and testament, because my heart is about to do a suicide dive out of my chest. But as my attention turns to his mouth, I know there won't be enough time to write down my last wishes. His lips are quirked up in a dreamy-sigh-eliciting half-smile thing, as he notes my posture and tone. He's still half under the bedcovers, but I could see his torso. Lord almighty. He was still skinny, but being the female that I am, I could see that the width of his shoulders and chest had gotten slightly bigger, and the slight, lean muscles he had going on.

I'm dead and gone. Mummy, Daddy, I love you. Ron, make sure to make a move on Hermione before you're 70, she can't have kids after she's 55. Actually, Hermione, if Ron makes you feel anything remotely like what I'm feeling now, (though I can't comprehend or imagine that ever happening) jump his bones as soon as you can.

Speaking of jumping bones, there's a bed in here, and me and him. The only thing we need to take out of the equation is my brother and Hermione, and maybe a few pieces of clothing, and then I could jump onto that bed and let him know just how much I've grown up and how I'm not just Ron's little sister.

'Whoa.' My inner voice finally comes out of its trance. 'Keep it young-witches -&-wizards-rated there, my hormonal teen llama.'

'And for Xeno's sake, you have a boyfriend!' one of the more moral voices scolds. That's right! What the hell am I thinking?!

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I finally realise that I haven't said anything since I walked in, and a slightly breathy, embarrassingly dreamy 'Hi, Harry' slips out of my mouth before I can rectify my tone.

I immediately want to slap my hands over my mouth, as a slight blush forms on my face. It can be passed off as colour due to me being pissed off, but I catch the smug, entertained look that Hermione sends my way. I grit my teeth in annoyance. He's a magical, gorgeous being with amazing sex-god hair, but I can't let others realise the affect he has on me!

Ron, mistaking my blush for anger at the someone who's worse than Umbridge, as he should, asks 'What's up with you?'

As my mind is too preoccupied with keeping my body from crawling onto Harry, I let my mouth mindlessly talk.

'It's _her_,' I say, and decide that the only way I won't jump on him is to sit down, so I plonk myself down on the bed. Oh so close. Some of my less immoral inner voices cheer at the sudden close proximity, and I realise that sitting near him might not have been the best choice.

'She's driving me mad." I finish, whilst thinking that if I replace that 'she' with a 'he', it would be much more accurate.

"What's she done now?' Hermione asked me, sympathy clear in her voice.

"It's the way she talks to me – you'd think I was about three!' I responded, my mind more focused on Harry's legs shifting under the covers near me.

"I know." Hermione agreed, now totally focussed on our little gossip sesh. "She's so full of herself."

I noticed Harry looking adorably surprised and confused, making me want to kiss him, ('Dean! Your boyfriend!') just as Ron decided to exclaim in a pissed off tone 'Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?'

That annoyed me. In the back of my mind, I knew that he was sort of right, and that the comparison I made of Phlegm against Umbitch was pretty unfair, but why so defensive? And honestly, I didn't even want to have this conversation. I just wanted him and Hermione to leave so I could run my hands through that amazing hair and-

Starting to get annoyed at my own train of thoughts, I snapped at Ron. 'Oh, that's right, defend her, we all know you can't get enough of her.'

"Who are you-' God, even his voice had gotten better over the few weeks I hadn't seen him! He was gorgeous before, but this was just ridikulus. Harry, please. I'm barmy enough already, please, please, stop doing this to me. I mentally begged him and in my head, collapsed as my knees buckled from the overpowering attractiveness of He-who-I'm-having-seriously-inappropriate-thoughts-about.

But my mental collapse was blown apart as the bedroom door was flung open and I found myself suddenly on the floor in reality, beside Hermione as Harry instinctively yanked the bedcovers up to defend himself. Huh. Some hero.

I turned slowly, and narrowed my eyes dangerously. Behold, it was the one and only herself.

Phlegm.

Carrying a breakfast tray.

For Harry.

''Arry, Eet 'as been too long!' She exclaimed.

Oh, sorry. A breakfast tray for ''Arry'

She glides over the threshold towards him, and I really wish I could put up a barrier around him so she couldn't come within at least 100 meters of him. Ahh, and there's Mother dearest, huffing and puffing in anger behind Madeline.

"There was no need to bring up the tray; I was just about to do it myself!' Mum says angrily. All my envious and jealous and spiteful and non-French particles are screaming in approval of Mum's words. I want to cheer her on, whilst kicking Phlegm out, whilst getting Hermione to drag Ron out, whilst feeding Harry that toast myself, and then tasting-

Shut. Up.

"Eet was no trouble,' Of course it wasn't.

I see her set the tray on his knees, thinking that now that she has delivered what she came to deliver, hopefully she'll just leave and it'll all be fin-

Why is she leaning down?

WHY IS HER UPPER BODY BENDING AT A 90 DEGREE ANGLE!?

I watch, horrified and steaming in anger as her face gets closer to his, and his face turns slightly red.

When I see her lips touch his cheek, I nearly lose it.

Did she not learn ANYTHING from me threatening her with a cucumber yesterday?! I want to Bat Bogey her so badly that my ears hurt from the absence of the sound of her screams.

"I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again.'

My eyes are narrowed so much, I think I'll get my wish of looking more like Cho Chang soon enough.

'Oh…' He sounds so...wonderstruck. Why does he sound wonderstruck?! Oh my llamas, does Phlegm always have to ruin everything?!

'Is she here too?' He continues hesitantly. Does he want her to be? I nearly whimper. Why does everyone love the French girls? Why am I being such a teenage girl?

"No, no, silly boy,' She laughs, and stuffing that wind chime down her throat seems so appealing that I almost get up off the floor to go get one. 'I mean next summer, when we – but do you not know?'

She widens her eyes dramatically, and gives Mum a reproachful look, to which Mummy replies with a 'We hadn't got around to telling him yet.'

Wow. Good one mum. I hope your sarcasm-detector isn't faulty.

To show the annoyance Fleur feels at a friend of hers, (as I suppose that's what she considers Harry to be, as they bonded over the difficult Triwizard tasks, and Harry 'saving' her sister and all,) not being informed of the big news of her wedding, she turns and swings her hair so that Mum gets a face full of silvery, Merlin-pin-straight semi-Veela hair, and announces;

'Bill and I are going to be married!'

As I avoid Hermione and Mum's eyes, a teeny-tiny part of me doesn't fail to hear that real excitement and happiness in her voice as she says it.

But it all disappears and my whole being is dying to Bat Bogey her like I've never Bat Bogeyed anyone before when she swoops down oh Harry and once again, presses her lips to his skin.

Get off, get off, get off, get off, get off.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment , working ver 'ard,…' I tune out as she prattles on in her French accent about her Eenglish and the chickens at the Burrow-I've heard it all way too many times over the last fortnight or so. I come back down from my fantasies (let's not go into too much detail. I'm afraid they're not 'young-witches-&-wizards-rated) when I hear Mum makes some weird noise of irritation, that sounds like 'tchah!'

"Mum hates her.' I decide I want to be Captain obvious, and point out.

"I do not hate her!' She whispers in a tone that totally contradicts her words. 'I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!'

"They've known each other a year.' Ron says as if in a trance, still staring at the closed door. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Mum continues to ramble on about the same 'rational' reasons she apparently doesn't entirely agree with Bill and Fleur's engagement, and it's not until she mentions people eloping left, right and centre do I decide to invest my input.

'Including you and Dad." I mutter slyly.

'Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting? Whereas Bill and Fleur…well…what have they really got in common? He's a hard-working, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she's-'

'A cow,' I jump in, nodding. 'But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a curse-breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour…I expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm.'

Mum tells me to stop calling Phlegm, Phlegm, but I'm too busy doing a victory jig with much hip trusting as Harry laughs at my choice of name for her.

She leaves the room, and Harry asks a punch-drunk looking Ron 'Don't you get used to her if she's staying in the same house?

'Well, you do,' Ron starts to respond, and I can already see Hermione tensing up, 'but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then….'

"It's pathetic,' Hermione finally seems to have lost patience, and storms away as far from Ron as she can before turning to face him once again.

'You don't really want her around for ever?' I ask him incredulously. I mean, I know as part-Veela, she affects him, but does he really want her around as a part of us? He shrugs, which knowing my brother as I do, translates to 'I honestly couldn't care less.'

'Well, Mum's going to put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything.' I say, though I don't really believe there is much Mum can do about it.

"How's she going to manage that?' Harry asks, probably thinking along the same lines as me.

I explain how Mum seems to be hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead, and we banter about the pro of having Tonks in the family versus having Fleur in the family. The only thing that stands out is when Harry decides to stick up for Phlegm.

'Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament,' he says. And though I can see that he's merely pointing it out, and that it is true, I can't help but get irritated. Whoa, step back everyone, Fleur was in the Triwizard Tournament, and kisses on the cheek, and is effortlessly gorgeous. Let's all sacrifice some potatoes and llamas in her honour.

"I suppose you like the way Phlegm says "Arry", do you?' I say, full of scorn and irritation at Phlegm.

"No, I was just saying, Phlegm – I mean, Fleur-' My heart melts a little at hearing him stutter like that. Aw, Mr-Sexy-in-pyjama-Potter, don't worry. I can forgive you.

'I'd much rather have Tonks in the family,' I continue. 'At least she's a laugh.'

I nearly groan out loud at Ron and Hermione's idiocy when they get into how Tonks' apparent depression and difficulty with her Metamorphosing is because of survivor's guilt and how she believes it was her fault that Sirius died. I can see Harry getting visibly uncomfortable, and wish for the umpteenth time that I could use magic and shut them up.

The door suddenly opens, thankfully finally shutting their stupid, stupid mouths. I'm less thankful, however, when I discover its Mum coming to grab me to come downstairs and help her with lunch.

I am an independent woman! I don't belong in the kitchen! Get one of the boys to do it!

"I'm talking to this lot!' I'm outraged. Of course I'm outraged. I finally have time to be included in an exclusive Harry-Hermione-Ron conversation, and ogle Harry without being obvious, and here she is, my own mother, taking that away from me!

'Now!' Mum says, and leaves.

'She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!' I huff. I figure I might as well make a dramatic exit, and as making Harry laugh seems an effective way to get closer to getting into his pants and life and heart, I imitate Phlegm and prance out ballerina-style, being as prettily graceful as I can.

'You lot had better come down quickly too,' I say as I take my leave.

And then I stop abruptly outside, nearly sending myself tumbling down the stairs, as what I just thought seconds ago really sinks in. Did I really just once again, make a conscious effort to be appealing to Mr Harry James Potter?

Galloping goats, I thought we were done with this!

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><p><strong>yeah, it wasn't exactly fantastic. I'm sorry, but...leave a review, and just let me know what you personally thought (err. nicely.) cause that's what matters.<strong>

**It's nearly twelve here, so I better get started on my studying! Happy Llama dreams :D**

**-pun33t.n**


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